A Traveler's Diary - Learning to Wander

It’s crazy, I’m thinking, just knowing that the world is round,
And here I’m dancing on the ground.
Am I right side up, or upside down?
And is this real, or am I dreaming?
- Dave Matthews, Crush

In the beginning, there was a lot of speculation and looking forward to what would come. These days, I find myself frequently looking backward in reflection. I can’t walk past a world map without tracing line after imaginary line, connecting the dots, remembering friends, and reliving adventures. As the memories slide past, I pause purposefully on some, enjoying the sentiments they still hold. There was so much uncertainty in the beginning – so much to risk, so much to choose, so much to stake on little more than a vision and faith. Not even in my dreams could I have conceived to replace that uncertainty with the love, relationships, and memories I now have in its place, especially as beautifully and wonderfully as it has been done. A year and a half ago, my life seemed all over the place with very little direction. Just days before setting off from Brazil on the journey back home – and not really thinking about the trip I was about to embark on – I wrote to God in my journal, asking him to teach me not to wander. The funny thing is, what He taught me in the end was exactly how to wander. Sometimes life is simply about the lack of direction, drifting about in the unknown to reach wherever it is we might be trying to go. So much to risk, so much to choose, so much to stake – so much uncertainty in the beginning; but in the end, I hold no regrets.

I remember the emotions of planning this trip, spending whole days with my guidebook, planning out an itinerary with destinations, costs, and travel times. I was excited, anxious, and scared. Mostly the scared like when you were a kid and your Dad let you drive for the first time, or being under the lights in front of a Friday night crowd, just before kickoff. Ok, I admit it, there were moments my heart simultaneously sank to my feet and shot up to my throat, lodging itself into a lump that sent the butterflies scattering through my gut when I tried to forcefully swallow it back down. The world seemed so big back then! I could not fathom how in the world, literally, I would ever be making it all the way back home from Brazil in buses…via Tierra del Fuego no less. I would be out alone in the world, living out of a backpack, all things new, every place foreign. Yet in classic paradoxical fashion, the dauntingness of it all made me want to do it even more. I don’t know if it was just a general maleness exuding itself, or just how I grew up. Maybe both. I wasn’t the most daring one of the group, I’m still not, but I like to play hard. I like the way a bike feels when you point it down a steep dirt track, the handle bars fighting to vibrate out of your hands, the tires just starting to slip a bit as you round corners. I could never go fast enough on my skis, though I did go high enough one time; 45 stitches and an agonizing 2 week house arrest, however, didn’t keep me from flying high on my first day back, nor did it keep me from bragging about it, rather unwisely, to my mother afterwards. My competitive side didn’t stay behind on the soccer field, but barged its way in to games of Sorry with girlfriends and Halo with the boys. I loved the sense of adventure from trekking, hiking, and mountaineering. Staring an unknown continent in the face, picturing the death roads, mountain trails, and letting the imagination run wild with the unknown, a sense of adventure would be a mild way of putting what I felt.

Despite all my planning, I was unprepared for many things that I encountered. I wasn’t prepared for the kindness of strangers, the generosity of the poor, the abundant joy of those who have nothing, the friends I would make in so short a time, the connection I would make to a culture that was not mine, and finding the true meaning of friendship and trust in the One who knows me even better than I know myself. In my year and a half pilgrimage, I learned more about the world and myself than I knew possible, and more about the Who that covers the world and myself in His goodness. I was forced to confront myself on so many levels. I have never felt so uncomfortable, so unsure, so doubtful, and so cynical as on this trip. But neither have I felt so encouraged, so hopeful, so humble, so real, so alive, or so blessed.

Maybe my biggest motivation for finally deciding to go was that the whole thing seemed forbidden. Perhaps not strictly or explicitly, but it wasn’t like I was just walking out the door all nonchalant for a Sunday stroll. People were surprised enough when I said I was going to be leaving for 5 months to live in Brazil, but who ever decides that now, since I happen to be in Brazil and that whole relationship thing didn’t work out, I might as well try and get on home to the States by going overland...and takes 19 months to finally arrive? No one said you couldn’t do that…but then no one ever really expected you to do it either. A border is always a temptation, and knowing that everyday would hold a new adventure, I finally went running off of the edge that I had, until then, only cautiously approached to peer over.

I am not trying to overplay my adventure. People have done much crazier things, achieved more unreachable goals, and done so with less than I had at my disposal. Throughout history, that great human spirit of defiance in the face of adversity has been our strongest ally and greatest stumbling block. As for me, I think mainly it was my own boundaries that I was trying to break, to go beyond the limits I had thus far set for myself. As I traveled longer and journeyed farther, I found myself looking for new ways to challenge myself. Could I survive a 12 day stint in the wilderness, climbing passes over 16,000 feet, on the strength of my own legs and back? Could I really ascend 20,000 feet into that serious lack of air? I want to ride my bike down that, I’m game to run that raging river, and I’ll huck myself off that cliff…just let me get a running start first. I was always on the lookout for the next big adventure, but never at the expense of living for the moment I found myself in. Everyday became less about controlling what I could do with it, but rather enjoying whatever came at me. With each passing day, I came to learn that despite the dauntingness of the world at times, nothing is out of reach; it could, however, take a while to get where you want to go, so you might as well enjoy the ride as you go along.

“You can kiss your family and friends good-bye and put miles between you, but at the same time you carry them with you in your heart, your mind, your stomach, because you do not just live in a world but a world lives in you.”
~Federick Buechner, Telling the Truth

Thanks so much to you all for reading my blog. It has been a great privilege to share my life and travels with you, and while the travels are over, life is not, so we should keep on sharing those. God bless, and much love.

Back Where I Began

Home, finally home, and what a journey. It is hard to believe it is over. I don't think I have really come to terms that it is, actually, quite finished. On the other hand, it was such a radical, life-changing experience that I guess it will never be over; it will always be a part of who I am, and so in a small way, I guess the journey continues.

I feel Tahoe was such an appropriate place to end this trip, a place to come full circle, not just in physical location, but in a sort of personal and spiritual sense as well. We all carry our homes with us, all of the good, all of the bad. We know the best spots to go to eat, to hang out, as well as to hide. We know all the exciting things to do, but that didn’t keep us from getting so bored at times; when the time came, every one of us was itching to leave home behind, even though that didn’t mean we didn’t still love what we were leaving behind. One of the blessings of my life was to grow up in Tahoe. It is truly a very special place. I don’t say that to dismiss anyone else’s home, as I know it means the world to you. It is a special thing to get a glimpse into a home that someone loves, especially when you have been able to do it all over the world. However, Tahoe just offers things that other places cannot, but while the imagery may be different, I think you will find the sentiment familiar.

I find the idealization of memory a curious thing, as the negative just seems to fade away while the positive stands firm. I think this is my memory of Tahoe. Sometimes in the present moment I find the same feeling as I do in nostalgia, especially when I am out exploring Tahoe’s beauty. Other times, as our already small community continues to diminish, and the inevitable tide of change comes rolling in, I can’t help but feeling like something precious has been lost, and it is only a matter of time before it is consumed entirely. Still, even though the subtle changes fashioned slowly over time may render a scene unrecognizable if you look away for long enough, look harder, and you will find hidden behind the veil of the past what new beauty has arrived. Through my idealized lens of memory, this is what home means to me (all photos are from Tahoe, although most are from before my recent wanderings):

Home is a big blue lake, too cold to swim in, but that doesn’t stop you from doing it, even in mid February;

Home is smiling to yourself when you hear people in grocery lines and in passing bragging about their epic weekend at Tahoe, or their planned trip up to a friend's 2400 square foot "cabin," knowing you live there, you grew up there, and the magic of the place is not just a weekend jaunt or an investment: it is your life, and it is you;

Home is warm summer days and cool summer nights. To us, 70 is hot, 80 uncomfortable, and we comfortably wear shorts when its in the 40’s...or just whenever;

Home is knowing how to make a fire without lighter fluid, and taking survival courses when you are 8 years old;

Home is Snowfest parades, ice cream eating contests mid-winter, and polar bear swims in the lake;

Home is a green forest blanketed in white after a winter storm, the snow clinging to the trees as if afraid of the heights at which it finds itself;

(I believe credit for this photo goes to Barry Jones. Nice shot)



Home is where the water is a brilliant blue in the deeps, an emerald green near the shore, so clear you can see down nearly 70 feet, so fresh that it tastes better out of the tap than any bottle of water you will ever buy in the store;

Home is colored clouds and alpen glow;









Home is an early morning sunrise setting the mountainsides ablaze;

It is a sunset run rampant in the sky, mimicked by the perfectly still waters of a serene mountain lake;

Home is having just as much fun sledding at 23 as you did at 7;

Home is never having a black night sky. A full moon will blaze brightly, its dull rays nevertheless cutting sharply through the forest canopy, making it one of the best times to go on a hike. A new moon yields the reign of the night to the glory of the stars, and a glimpse of the Milky Way will leave you breathless every time;

Home is the mountains. The clarity and beauty of their aerial views are gained only by struggling to make the climb, their heights only appreciated by the depths of the valleys beneath them. What an analogy to life;

Home is the patchwork of snow and trees on a mountain landscape;

Home is sitting next to a warm fire, caught up in the magical way the snow flutters to the ground. With the anticipation of no school, every snow-day turns you into a kid on Christmas morning…and even if there was school, we lived by the old proverb of it being better to ask forgiveness later than permission now;

Home is enduring the winter cold, snow removal, wind-burned cheeks, chapped lips, freezing lift rides through howling wind, all for the reward of a few turns in the fluffy, white powder;

Home is cutting your line through virgin snow, whooping out shouts of joy and bellows of involuntary laughter as clouds of snow engulf you with every turn. Here, a face shot is not a dirty word, and you wonder what people are chasing at the office rat race across the world: between two boards and a steep pitch of powder, you have found heaven on earth;

(not my photo, but an amazing shot)

Home is having a wilderness for a back yard. It is where heading out into that wilderness is not getting away from it all, but getting back to it;

Home is holding on for dear life on wicked tube ride across choppy Tahoe waters;

Home is catching a river trout in a mountain stream, grilling it up on well used pan over a wood fire, kickin’ back to enjoy the view of the setting sun, and enjoying the best tasting meal you will ever have;

Home is that peaceful, easy feeling on a colorful summer’s day, the tranquility of fall after all the tourists have gone home, the crispness of the winter air, and the rebirth of life as spring sheds its winter coat of snow;

Home is sharing all the wonder with friends. It is the bond between friends who still stare speechless at Tahoe’s beauty even though they have seen it a thousand times, and it is watching the emotions go through the face of one who sees it for the first time;

Home is Tahoe. And I’m back home.

This One's for You

Dedicated to every single person I encountered on my travels - local or traveler, rich or poor, good friend or just a passing face. Let's do it again sometime.

Este blog le dedico a cada persona que yo encontré en mi viaje - un local o un viajero, buen amigo o solo una cara pasando por mis ojos. Que lo hagamos otra vez. (Se encuentra español abajo)

Eu quero dedicar este blog a tuda a gente quem eu encontrei na minha viagem - locales ou viajantes, ricos ou povres, bom amigo ou simplesmente uma face de passagem. Disculpe que não me lembra português, e espero que voçes podem ler no espanhol, o que está abaixo.


First and foremost, thank you to all the people for sharing your lives with me;
Thanks to all of you who brought me into your homes;
Thank you for feeding me, giving me a safe and secure shelter, and treating me like family - that is a priceless gift to one so far from any place he can call home;
Thanks for challenging my ideas, my prejudices, my comfort, my faith, my personality, and my character;
Thank you for making me think and reflect;
Thanks for dancing with me at weddings, rocking with me to music, making fun of me, and letting me do the same to you;
Thanks for riding horses with me in the country, for helping me get visas, taking me places to do errands, sharing a meal with me, showing me your country, and sharing your culture;

Thanks for the terere, the mate, the wine, the café, the beer, and the ice cold water when I so desperately needed it;
Thanks for the conversations;

Thank you for walking with me through the mountains, staring in wonder at glaciers, lakes, and peaks;
Thanks for cooking with me, sharing a bottle of wine, and telling me your story;
Thanks for trying to be quiet in dorm rooms - those who sucked at that, I throw my shoe at you...and apologize when I sucked at it;
Thanks for cheering me up when I was down, and smiling at one of my weak jokes when you clearly weren't in the mood;

Thanks for patiently waiting while I complained selfishly about some situation you had been through yourself, then getting right on with enjoying our day;
To you all back home, thanks for the encouragement;

To my parents, thanks for understanding, and thanks for all your help;
Thanks to those who saw me when I got back - definitely one of the highlights of my trip;

To the latinos, thanks for tolerating us coming into your country, and thanks for making the experience so great. I will miss some of you greatly;

To all the travelers, thanks for braving the buses, the water, the toilets, the altitudes, and the attitudes of latin america;

Thanks for tempting death with me, in so many ways, and thoroughly enjoying yourself all the while;
Thanks for invites to stay in touch, sorry I am bad at it, but you are welcome in my home any time;
Thank you all for your ideas, your stories, your laughs, your struggles, your likes, your dislikes, your passions, your compassion, what makes you angry, what brings you joy, and simply what makes you, you;
Thanks for the hugs, thanks for the laughs, and thanks for the memories;
Obrigadão; muchísimas gracias; thanks so very, very much.
Much love to you all!

En primer lugar, les agradezco a toda la gente por compartir sus vidas conmigo;
Gracias por darme la bienvenida a sus hogares;
Les agradezco por alimentarme, por darme un refugio seguro, y por tratarme como uno de los suyos - todo eso es un regalo sin precio para un hombre tan lejos de cualquier lugar que se puede llamar "su hogar";
Gracias por retar mis ideas, mis prejudicios, mi comodidad, mi fé, mi personalidad, y mi carácter;
Te agradezco por ponerme de pensar y meditar;
Gracias por bailar conmigo en las bodas, cantar a música como estrellas de rock, burlarme, y por permitirme de burlarse;
Gracias por andar en caballo por el campo, ayudarme para conseguir una visa, traerme para hacer mis mandatos, compartir una comida conimgo, mostrarme tu país, y por compartir tu cultura;
Les agradezco por los tereres, los mates, el vino, los cafés, las cervezas, y el agua helada cuando la necesitaba tanto;
Gracias por las charlas;
Gracias por caminar por las montañas, por maravillarse a glaciares, lagunas, cerros, y torres;
Gracias por cocinar conmigo, compartir algunas botellas de vino, y contarme sus historias;

Les agradezco a los que no hicieron tanto ruido en los dormitorios - a los que hicieron mal, les tiro mi zapato...y me disculpo por ser mal en eso también.
Les agradezco por su ánimo cuando yo lo necesitaba, y por sonreír a algunos de mis chistes flojos, especialmente cuando uds. estuvieron de mal humor;
Gracias por su paciencia mientras me quejaba con egoísmo sobre algo que antes ya les han pasado, y por seguir disfrutando nuestro día inmediatamente después;

A todos uds. en los EEUU., gracias por el ánimo;
A mis padres, gracias por entender y por toda su ayuda;
Gracias a todos que les visité al volver - es uno de los partes más destacados en mi viaje;
A los latinos, gracias por tolerar todos nosotros que vinieron a tu país, y gracias por hacer nuestra experéncia tan memorable. Les echaré de menos a algunos tanto;
A los viajeros, gracias por afrontar los buses, el agua, los baños, y los altitudes y actitudes de latina america;
Les agradezco por tentar el muerte conmigo, en tantas maneras, y por disfrutarles completamente mientras lo hiciéramos;
Gracias por invitarme a estar en contato, lo siento que que lo hago malo, pero siempre uds. están bienvenidos en mi casa;

Gracias a todos uds. por todos sus ideas, sus historias, sus ríes, sus luchas, sus gozos, sus aversiónes, sus pasiones, su compasión, el que se enojan, el que se alegran, y sencillamente por compartir lo que hace vos, vos;
Gracias por los abrazos, por los ríes, y por las memorias;
Obrigadão; muchísimas gracias; thanks so very, very much.
Besos y abrazos fuertes!

The Adjustment

First, it's the little things. The bigness of the little things for example, like the distance required to go anywhere, the ginormity of supermarkets, the large quantities of everything on their shelves, or the sprawling black sea of a parking lot outside, temporarily housing its typically over-sized American vehicles. Things such as the divine gift of a hot shower (still hasn't gotten old), service at restaurants, lots of waste, American brusqueness, flushing toilets, and public restrooms. Shaking hands, for me, feels like an effort to push someone away to a safe, controllable distance; I miss hugs, I miss kisses, and I miss contact. Then there is the order of things, like the freeway with its slow-paced, well-behaved drivers driving in its well-defined lanes, or smooth sidewalks with color coded curbs, the people walking when it says walk, stopping when it says stop.

Even the fact that a designated lane for pedestrians exists, equipped with with coordinated signs, is a peculiar concept. While you cross 4 lanes of traffic to get to the other side of the street, you wonder at the rules to that peculiar, slow-motion game of chicken the people play between the two thick, white lines as soon as the red hand turns into a green man. They can't just simply be crossing the street, no, because that would require them to always walk to one end of the block rather than taking the easier and more direct route that you have elected. Besides, the cars of this country seem to have an odd aversion to humans being in the street; they all just kind of come to a stop.

People are an incredibly array of colors, but the amount of whiteness strikes you, perhaps slightly more so than the blackness, but the serious reduction of brownness is probably the most conspicuous. That probably depends on what U.S. city you showed up in, however, or in what neighborhood you were making your rounds. Wherever you are, however, you can be assured to be lost in the crowd, no longer a curious anomaly. That is, at least, when you ditch the excess baggage or the judgmental eyes don't catch your shabby traveler threads.

Unconcerned with their color, English comes roaring out of every mouth. The syllables engulf whatever environment you find yourself in. Contrary to desire, the sound breaches your hearing, and without even the slightest amount of effort, the words penetrate your understanding. Whereas before the chatter was simply in the background, only intelligible by active choice, now side conversations barrage your senses. The noise, to borrow a term from a friend, is deafening. Inversely, the silence of the now nonexistent Spanish in your life feels debilitating.

You get a sense of what it must be like to come to America for the first time from an "undeveloped nation" (read: not as developed as America...in some ways), especially when you fly on a Virgin America flight. You are bombarded from the get-go. Your flight is from LAX, so the amount of people and spiffy airport terminals takes you aback. The check-in set up is like nothing you have ever seen before, almost like you should be ordering a drink at a downtown bar instead of getting your seat assignment. Then it is off to cue in the always joyful, never tedious process of airport security. When you board the plane, the hiply dressed attendant (no tacky skirts and bandanna tie things) takes your boarding pass, and you go down the ramp and into a plane whose interior is lit by black lights. That's right. Black lights. You find your seat, and notice it is equipped, like all the others, with a video screen. An entertaining movie comes on as you taxi from the gate, explaining the safety features of the aircraft, and even manages to infuse a little humor into it. Well played. THEN, you learn it isn't just a movie screen. It is a touch-pad screen, where you can order drinks, movies, or TV shows. Don't feel like spending money? Ok, put on some of your favorite music to the headphone jack on your seat, play some games, or chat with another person on the plane. Impressed? Yeah you are. And you didn't come from the old school buses resurrected as latin america's "chicken busses," which only came with uncomfortable seats, lots of people, maybe a sound system blasting rancheros or reggaeton, and of course, chickens. Bu-cawwww!!!!

Thankfully, the good things shine bright. It easy to forget that abroad; where the open wounds of a country wreak with our presence; where destitution jumps off the inanimate page of a dictionary and personifies itself in a living person, in a human being; where all our sins as a nation stare you back in the face, ugly and painful and undeniable. Their memory hasn't died since you crossed back into the land of the Stars and Stripes, but our other side, our better side, gently reintroduces itself through others. The values and ideals you were taught to cherish with pride because it was your country who stood for them, it was your country that protected them, don't seem so distant anymore. Through the lives of friends - their stories, their efforts, and their love - you regain what you thought was lost or perhaps hadn't even existed at all in the first place; hope is renewed with every story of those going out to be intstruments of peace, who love in defiance of despair, and who refuse to sit by and do nothing while others suffer. Where the bitter taste of shame once led you to condemn, it now slowly fades, yielding slowly with time to understanding. Perhaps most valuable is the ability to more readily recognize this change in yourself, helping you to refuse to give into the aspects of your culture that seek to pull you back to what you were, and to strive more earnestly to be the change you wish to see. You realize that it is near-sighted ignorance, and not callous indifference, that leads to inaction; the former perhaps reprimandable, the latter most certainly condemnable. Absolution and exhortation, rather than accusation, lead to forgiveness and inspire change, and because you can see better how and why things are, you are now empowered to shape what they will become.

Slowly you come to terms with it all, but you still find yourself staring at things too much. Scenarios, situations, people, conversations. Nothing is unfamiliar; you know the rules, social or otherwise, because you have lived them. Yet you feel as if you don't belong...like you have been removed and are now viewing the situation from afar. Until you get caught watching, and awkwardness yanks you harshly back into reality.

When and where does it all end? I don't know. I am still caught by surprise at random instances, but I am slowly adjusting. In some ways, my assimilation has simply followed a natural course of time, but in other ways I find myself resisting. All the little things can go, but in many ways, I hope to affect my culture rather than be effected. There are just some things I don't want to lose, others that I don't want to go back to, because it is in those areas that I feel I have been bettered. I guess in many ways I am still changing as I process my long trip and now have a medium of comparison.

I am happy to be back amongst family and friends, but I also feel myself missing my friends made the world over. There are parts of the world I still carry with me in my heart, and I will always feel a little torn between them, because I can never be in all of them at once. I guess one solution would be to go on another epic journey...but I guess for now it would be more practical, at least on my end of the bargain, for you all to come on over to my place for a potluck you ain't never seen before. Brazilians, you're in charge of arroz e feijão and Guaraná, Paraguayans the chorizos, Argentinians bring the asado, Chileans bring the wine. Bolivia you got the llama, Peru all your potatoes, and I expect some of that street food from Colombia. Nicaraguans are in charge of the gallo pinto, los Guanacos (El Salvador) better hook us up with some pupusas, Guatemaltecos with some beans and tortillas, while the mole, enchiladas, and guacamole will be supplied authentically Mexican, and the Yanquis are in charge of planning: big park, lots of space, a typically American setting. Light the firecrackers, bust out the music, clear out the dance floor, and you better be ready to go all night long. Grab your party hats y'all, we're going to have ourselves a fiesta. At least, that is how I envision it while lost in my nostalgia...

Christmas Surprise Videos

For those reading the note on facebook, the video is uploaded onto my page. The video is better quality there, so if you or someone you know has facebook, I would view it there.

Hay una versión del video en español abajo, y está en facebook, si vos lo tenés, con mas cualidad.

The Long Road to a Christmas Surprise (Part 2)

Dedicated to my cousin Sean.  Sorry it took so long buddy.

I (Never) Saw the Sign
Standing on the State's side of the World's Most Crossed Border, I found myself thoroughly disappointed. Where in the heck was the sign welcoming me to the USA? Maybe I just missed the thing, but I never saw one anywhere. EVERY other border I crossed had a sign. I was so looking forward to that picture. 

Narrator (Deep voice, English accent, probably drinking brandy and smoking a pipe): "The weathered traveler, weary from his seemingly endless adventures in lands foreign, facing daring situations fraught with danger, seasoned by the many exotic spices of the travel life - like jasmine - now takes his last footsteps on foreign soil as he nears his last and final border.  You can nearly feel his excitement, his anticipation, the tingly little feeling in the tippy tops of his finger.  Just a few more steps now, across he goes, and just imagine the joy he feels staring up at that sign welcoming back into his home country, a place he has not been in nearly a year and a half..." 

Cue photo:  (scratchy record sound) Oh wait.

I guess I will just have to ask you to do the same as I have to do, and just use your imagination.

Coming Full Circle
Arriving in San Diego was not easy. I felt my first travel anxiety in over a year at my total inability and lack of knowledge about how to get things done.  My goal was simple enough, get to the neighborhood where I had friends working, find them, and ask if I could spend the night. What I had were a Church address where they worked, a home and work phone number (no cell), a poorly printed map from map quest and printed in Tijauna, and $15.  The problem, however, was that I didn't know where in the San Diego area the address was located, therefore no idea how to get there, and I hadn't talked to my friends in about a week (remember I was on bus after bus, night after night, and then hitchhiked Baja...not a lot of chances to find internet access to try and make a phone call).

How in the heck do I get where I need to go? Ok, first, call the friends and see if they can tell me.  I got two answering machines and quickly lost $2.50 to the pay-phones, a lot when all you have is $15 to try and find your friends somewhere in San Diego. The poorly printed map soon became the useless map, as no one could recognize the streets on it or what neighborhood it was in.  Internet cafes are pretty much a non-concept here in the States, at least for those with no computers with them, and thus printing searching the address and printing a better map, or trying to make a phone call via internet, were both no goes.  So it was down to the most basic but sometimes most important helper to the traveler, the gut feeling.  I thought I remembered in a conversation a while back that the Church my friends worked at was in Del Mar, a 45 minute drive from the U.S.-Mexico border. So I decided to jump on the trolley, and see what that brought me; sometimes that is all you can do.

Acting on the hunch payed off.  Three stops later I saw a trolley information center so I hopped off and talked to a very nice and under appreciated lady (based on how others treated her courteousness. Courtesy here is rare and nothing compared to Latin America, but this lady was a total exception and awesome!). She got me squared away by locating where I was going on a transit map based on the address I had (it was indeed in the Del Mar area), and gave me a map with all possible bus, trolley, and train routes to where I needed to go. Unfortunately, none passed closer than a few miles from the address I had, but I decided to keep on getting closer and see what that brought me.

I headed back north on the trolley before transfering to the Coaster train that heads all the way to LA. While explaining my situation to a conductor, a local from Del Mar overheard us and offered his cell phone to call. I tried again at my friends home, and, success! At 5:00 on a Friday afternoon, I asked my friends if I could stay over that night, and when their laughter (at their surprise, at my latiness...) subsided, they said yes. 20 minutes later I was in their car, ten more brought me to their home. 

Now here is a good story.  These friends I have been referring to are the very same friends, Leo and Taty, that I stayed with in Brazil. It was them that sent me off from their house in Brazil to start this adventure, and it was them that first welcomed me back to the States a year and a half later. How sweet is that?!?!

The Last Leg

I then began calling everyone I knew, hoping to find a friend, or a friend of a friend (or a friend of a friend of a...), that was heading north for the holidays. Now enter Ryan and Ginger, awesome friends and all around cool people, who upon hearing the surprise I had planned offered me a deal. If they could get in on it, then they would fly me from LA to San Francisco, their treat. Leo and Taty were going to LA the next day to pick up Leo's mom flying in from Brasil, and before I knew it, all the chips were lined up and I was on my way to San Francisco. How blessed I am by my friends!

Ryan and Ginger housed me for the couple days leading up to Christmas, and it was great to catch up and hang out. I also got some good time in with my old roomie, Jose, also living in Bay Area. On Christmas Eve around four o'clock, Ryan, Ginger, and myself headed off toward my grandparents house where my family waited unsuspectingly.  For the rest of the story, I give you my poorly made remake and tribute to the Christmas classic, The Night Before Christmas: 

The Night Before Christmas - The Remix
'Twas two weeks before Christmas, gone a year plus half,
I thought enough is enough, 'tis time to go back.
So I fixed up my backpack, hopped onto a bus,
En route to California, by Christmas or bust.

By bus, boat, thumb, plane, however I might,
Three thousand miles I went, in only 9 nights.
In the season of giving, my friends did shine bright,
And on the door step I was, on Christmas Eve night.

A phone call to the father, a little chit chat,
Can you give mom a message, and hurry at that?
Can she come get the door, and do as she's told,
Standing in front of the house, your son is quite cold.

Your kidding, your joking, that can't be right,
You are only in Baja, not here tonight!
Of course I'm not joking, come see for yourself,
Ding dong goes the doorbell! I rang it myself.

Shouts of surprise, and with the pounding of feet,
Come tearful smiling faces, quite eager to greet,
A lost vagabond son, recently arrived,
Fresh from the road, and adventures he's survived.

So all turned out well, much to everyone's delight,
We all quite enjoyed, this year's Christmas suprise,
Little remains to be told, but one last thing will I write,
Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night.

The Long Road to a Christmas Surprise (Interlude)

La Vuelta a la Madre Patria (Return to the Mother Land)

3 tourist visas, 17 countries, 30 different border crossings, and 52 passport stamps. (1)

Three oceans, two continents, one sea, and an isthmus.

Two birthdays, two Thanksgivings, one Christmas, and a presidential election.

One year, 5 months, and 17 days.

20 hours logged in planes, 10 hours in trains, 25 hours in boats, and 775 hours in busses (2).

Thousands of miles, hundreds of friends, nine inches of hair, and countless memories.

A once in a lifetime opportunity.

Overland from Brazil down to the End of the World and back up to the United States. Planned, traveled, realized.

Epic.

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Footnotes:

(1) – For those stuck on the math, I hopped the border into Paraguay from Brazil and back covertly (read illegally), and for Nicaragua, Honduras, El Salvador and Guatemala, you only get one entry and one exit stamp.

(2) – While ridiculously large (equivalent to 32 days), this number is also slightly deceiving. I only included major bus trips, mainly those trips where I found myself sleeping in a different spot at the end of the trip. Thus this value does NOT include any inner city bus travel, a lot of return day trips, no taxi hours, and none of the time I spent sitting waiting in terminals, on highways, or wherever while inbetween busses. So while it is a MASSIVE number, the actual time spent getting from point A to point B would be much, much larger. The 775 hours is really just part of the story. Nonetheless, I think 775 hours is still pretty impressive.